Babysitting The Brat
by CreativePunk77
Summary: Vernon and Petunia are away on a work retreat, where no children are allowed. Harry is sent packing off to a summer camp and Dudley is stuck with his favourite neighbour, Mrs Figg.
1. Chapter 1

**CHAPTER ONE**

" _I DON'T WANT TO GO TO HER HOUSE! TAKE ME WITH YOU!"_

The high pitched wails of a five year old boy pierced the ears of his parents and younger cousin, the smaller boy happy to get away from the noise. Harry was going away to a summer camp, and thankfully, his cousin wouldn't be tagging along. His Aunt and Uncle were going on a work retreat for his Uncle's company, but no children were allowed. Which meant that he was being shipped off to summer camp and his cousin… Well, they were still deciding on where to place him.

"Sweetie, you know we'd love to take you with us, but this trip is for grownups."

"I WANT TO GO!"

"Son, Mummy and I don't want to leave you, but Daddy _has_ to go. This retreat is important for me." Vernon jostled the phone against his ear, huge fingers wrapped around the cord. "I'm just seeing if your Auntie Marge can look after you."

Dudley pulled a face. His Auntie gave him treats and money, but all those dogs… he used to have nightmares about them chasing him down.

Vernon spoke into the receiver as Petunia smoothed her son's thick blond hair down. "Now pumpkin, you're Mummy and Daddy's big boy. We know you'll be perfectly behaved for your Auntie Marge. You're a good boy. Unlike _some one."_ She shot a nasty look at Harry, who shrunk back, rucksack at his feet.

"I DON'T WANT TO STAY WITH HER! I WANT TO GO WITH YOU AND DADDY!" Dudley screwed up his face, his cheeks bright red. "TAKE ME WITH YOU!"

Petunia clung onto her son desperately as he began battering her with his small fists, Harry looking on in bewilderment and slight apprehension. Many times, he had been the target of those fists and he was keen to avoid them.

Vernon ended the call and put the phone down. He sighed in frustration.

"Marge is ill. She can't take Dudley."

Petunia's frozen smile soured into a grimace. "Who'll take Dudley then?"

Vernon sighed again. "We could get Mrs Figg to take care of him, she does alright with the boy after all." He glared venomously at Harry, who to avoid any more looks, dropped down to the floor and curled up behind his rucksack. Vernon stared in confusion at Harry, shaking his head in exasperation and turning away to watch his wife attempt to console a wailing Dudley, who had taken things up a notch by wriggling excessively.

' _Strange boy.'_

"Duddy! Calm down, sweetie! Calm-" She struggled to hold onto him, ducking out of the way of a flailing arm. "Duddykins," She cooed. "How about Mummy gives you a big chocolate bar for you to eat before going to Mrs Figg's?" Petunia turned her attention onto Vernon, clutching her son tightly to her chest.

"I really don't want him to stay there, Vernon. The house is so… unclean with all of those cats. Do you think she'll be able to look after him properly?"

"Like I said before, Pet, she looks after the boy alright. He comes back in one piece, without a cat scratch on him."

" _He_ doesn't matter." Her cold clipped voice shot back. "Our perfect little angel does. Don't you, Duddykins?" She squeezed Dudley hard, the five year old stopping his wailing and writhing, to moan instead.

"Mummy! You're squishing me!"

Loosening her grip, she simpered: "I'm sorry, diddums. Is Mrs Figg the last resort then?"

"I'm afraid so."

Petunia shook her head in distaste, before smiling sweetly down at Dudley. "Duddy, you're going to be staying with Mrs Figg for the week. I know you'll be well-behaved for her. You'll be able to go and play with your friends because she'll take you to the park and don't worry, I'll make sure that you'll be well-fed."

Dudley decided to throw a tantrum to get across his displeasure at being placed with the cat lady.

"I DON'T WANT TO GO AND STAY WITH HER! SHE STINKS! HER AND THE STUPID CATS! TAKE ME WITH YOU NOW!"

"Baby, Daddy's going to call Mrs Figg now and then we'll get your bag packed. Okay, sweetums?"

" _NO!"_

Throwing himself onto the carpet, Dudley rolled around, wailing in anger and displeasure. As Vernon pressured Mrs Figg into taking on their precious boy for a week, Petunia fussed over Dudley, attempting to soothe his screams before any of the neighbours took issue. From behind his rucksack, Harry stayed curled up. If he was out of the way, then he wouldn't be bothering any of his relatives.

A few moments later, Vernon slammed the phone down.

"She's agreed to take Dudley. Pet, we have to get a move on, we need to go soon. Remember we have to drop the boy off at that camp."

"Mmh." Petunia hummed half-heartedly as she scooped a writhing Dudley up into her arms, trying to avoid being battered with small fists. "Come on, sweetie, lets go get ready!"

* * *

It took a full hour for one bag to be packed, Dudley changing his mind about what to take every few minutes. His mother had to constantly remind him that the television was too big to pack and that all of his toys would still be there when he returned home in a week. In the end, an assortment of clothes, shoes and toys were packed into the bag, a colouring book and toiletries shoved down the sides.

As Petunia lugged the bag to the door, instructing Dudley to put his shoes on, her eyes welled up when her son whispered:

"You're getting rid of me, aren't you?"

She turned round sharply, his big eyes and sad pout tugging at her heart. She crouched down and pulled him into a hug, a tear dripping down her cheek as she heard him sniffle against her shoulder.

"Duddykins, we would never get rid of you! We love you so much! You're our ickle Duddy! We love you!"

His fake sniffles vanished, a smirk appearing on his face, arms hugging his mother tightly. "So… I don't have to go to Mrs Figg's? You love me so much, you have to take me!"

"No, baby. W-We can't! There's no other c-choice!"

Petunia wailed in distress at the fact that she was being separated from her son for seven whole days, and Dudley wailed at the realisation that for once, he hadn't got his own way.

* * *

The mother and son duo stood on the doorstep of Mrs Figg's house, Dudley scuffing the doormat moodily. He was giving his mother the silent treatment, whilst Petunia sniffed the air in distaste. The pungent aroma of cat food wafted out through the open window, but it was not ladylike to gag, so she pinched her nostrils instead.

When the front door opened, Petunia's fingers pulled away from her nose and she eyed her neighbour critically.

"Good morning, Mrs Figg."

"Petunia."

"Thank you for agreeing to take Dudley."

"Well, your husband made it clear that I was taking your son, and we'll discuss payment at the end of the week."

Petunia bristled at her words, but instead took to peering round the woman, through the doorway. Amused, Mrs Figg questioned her.

"Is something the matter?"

"H-How many cats do you have now?"

"Fifteen."

Her face scrunching up in disgust, Petunia muttered: "I don't want my Dudley being attacked by one of those… animals, and is your house clean? Also, you need to make sure that the meals you prepare for Dudley are well-portioned. I don't want my baby to starve."

Mrs Figg looked down at Dudley and tutted. "I don't see that happening any time soon."

"Excuse me?"

"My house is very clean, Petunia, regardless of the cats. As you know, Harry has been round here many times and he has never picked up any diseases or any other codswallop that people believe you can pick up from cats. Dudley will be absolutely fine. Now, go and join Vernon, I'm sure you're on a time constraint."

"Well, I am." Petunia bristled again, before turning to her son, her lips settling into the familiar smile she reserved for her only child. "Duddykins, Mummy has to go now. I know you'll be a good boy for me, enjoy your week." She bent down and yanked him into a tight hug, whispering in his ear. "Any problems though, I want you to talk to Mrs Polkiss and she'll call me at the resort we're staying at. Anything bad at all, and Daddy and I will come straight home. I love you!"

Dudley squirmed in her grip, making a face when she kissed him on the cheek. Petunia broke the hug and rose up again to her full height. She smoothed his thick blond hair, then hurried off down the path. Dudley wiped away the saliva on his cheek, shuddering, then stared up at his neighbour.

"I don't like you." He scowled.

"The feeling's mutual." Mrs Figg muttered. "Come through, Dudley."


	2. Chapter 2

Henny B-F-R - **The reason why Vernon calls Petunia 'Pet' is more a term of endearment as I'm sure he calls her that in the books, but yeah, can see what you mean.**

* * *

 **CHAPTER TWO**

As he was a young child, Dudley didn't take in the interior design of the house, choosing to instead gaze into the living room in utter misery.

"Your TV's too small!"

"So sorry about that. I have more important things to worry about. Come on, I need to show you your room."

Huffing in indignation, Dudley followed Mrs Figg up the steps, stamping his feet on every step.

"Don't do that." She rolled her eyes upon seeing the boy's reflection in the mirror at the top of the staircase. He was poking his tongue out behind her back.

"This way, Dudley."

The five year old let his bag trail behind him, squealing whenever any cats made an appearance. Mrs Figg opened the door to the guest room, then looked down in bemusement.

"I thought cats wouldn't scare you, surely you've seen one before?"

"Yeah! Mummy won't let me have one, said they're messy and dirty." His eyes shone with glee. _"Like Harry."_

"Your cousin isn't dirty, and neither are my cats." She stepped into the guest room. "This is where you'll be sleeping. I hope it is up to your exceptionally high standards. Room fit for a king and all. _More like a spoilt brat."_ She mumbled the last part to herself.

Having taken no notice of what the cat lady had said, Dudley entered the room, dumping his bag on the floor and launching himself onto the bed. The springs in the mattress groaned in protest as Dudley rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling.

"Well, now you've gotten yourself acquainted with the bed, I'll give you a little tour of the room." When she received no response, Mrs Figg clicked her fingers. "That means you have to get up and stand on your own two feet. Do you think you can do that?"

Pouting up at the ceiling, Dudley whined: "I'm not stupid, and no, I'm comfy here."

"Fine." Mrs Figg sincerely regretted taking on her young neighbour. He was an absolute nightmare in every waking moment. "I have a few rules I want to put into place, just so you can keep yourself safe and we won't have to end up worrying your parents. Rule number one: No going out of the house by yourself. I don't want you wandering off. Number two: The latest bedtime I'll allow you is nine. I don't want you losing sleep each night, you'll barely be able to stay awake when your parents pick you up. Number three-"

"Whatever." Dudley hollered. With a lot of effort, he sat up, sliding off of the bed. "Let's play hide and seek!"

"Dudley, no-"

Before she could utter another word, he had run out of the room, squawking with laughter. Aware that he could trip over any one of her cats and potentially hurt himself, Mrs Figg followed him, ears attuning to the sound of his giggles.

"Dudley? Where are you?"

A happy giggle was quickly cut off by the sound of a door closing. Realising that he must have shut himself in her own bedroom, Mrs Figg marched to the door, twisting the handle and preparing to give the little brat a lecture.

He was attempting to hide under the bed, but his ever growing mass prevented him from fully sliding under. Mrs Figg, struggling to contain her amusement at such a sight, folded her arms over her tatty cardigan.

"Dudley, come out please. I'm going to start making dinner soon."

"Can we have takeaway?" His voice, muffled under the bed, piped up.

"What did you say? I can't hear you under there."

Pulling himself free from under the bed, he stared at her. "I want to choose the takeaway!"

"We're not having takeaway." She huffed. "And I would think you're used to home cooked meals, what with your mother being a housewife and all."

"Mummy cooks all the time! It's boring! But I want chicken nuggets and chips! _Now!"_

"I don't have chicken nuggets and chips. We're going to have fish and-"

"Chips!"

"No, fish and-"

"Chips!"

Mrs Figg wished she had brandy in the house to down. "Dudley, how many times am I going to have to say this? We're not having chips-"

"Why not?!" He pouted, hands on hips. For a moment, he reminded her of his mother. Those moments were rare.

"We are having fish and salad. We can go food shopping in the week and if you've been good, I may allow you to get some fatty foods, but definitely no takeaway."

"But I want chips!" He flung his head back and let loose a loud bellow.

"YOU'RE AN EVIL WITCH!"

Mrs Figg stared at him in shock. Dudley was now looking back at her, his blue eyes glinting with anger and his hands, free from his hips, balled up into small fists.

' _Well at least he didn't substitute the 'w' for a 'b'.'_

"One last time. We are eating fish and salad. Will you help me prepare it?"

"NO!"

"Fine. You can stay up here then until dinner's ready."

He blinked once. Then, blinked again. Shock seemed to have settled into his system.

"B-But I want to w-watch telly…"

"You can't. You've just shouted at me and frankly, you're a very rude boy. I won't stand for it in my house. You stay here for now."

"But Mummy and Daddy-"

"Let you watch the television and would let you have takeaway. I know, I know."

Expecting him to fire back that he would tattle on her to his parents, she was surprised and slightly concerned to witness Dudley suddenly clutch his stomach, a grimace forming on his lips.

"I don't feel so good… my tummy feels weird…"

"Well I know it's not from sweets, as I haven't given you any… Oh, but I bet you had some before you came over. Did your Mum give you some?"

"Yeah," He let out a strangled groan. "Said something about you not feeding me enough…"

Mrs Figg snorted. "That sounds like your Mother alright. Probably thinks I'm inadequate when it comes to feeding young children, particularly the greedy kind."

"Ow! It really hurts!"

She sighed. "What did you have to eat before you came over?"

"C-Chocolate."

"What type of chocolate?"

"Five Cadburys… The Dairy Milk ones. They're really yummy!"

"That's far too much!"

"But I like them!"

Not wanting to hear any more of his whining, Mrs Figg stood with her hands on her hips, eyes narrowing. "Dudley, you are eating a healthy meal now. No takeaway at all. I will do you a smaller portion because of the little snack you ate before coming here, but if you refuse me-"

She stared pointedly at him as his mouth opened. "You can go straight to bed. _Right now."_

His mouth closed in horror.

"That's better." She turned away from him and headed towards the kitchen. "Come on, you can set the table."

* * *

After a tantrum at having to set the table for the first time in his life, as well as mashing his fists into his food, Arabella was dragging Dudley up to the guest room by his arm. His feet stamped on every step, evidence of his unhappiness, as Mrs Figg pulled him into the second bedroom.

"Change into your pyjamas, then meet me in the bathroom. Yes?"

"Yes… _evil witch."_

"What did you say?"

He aimed a huge fake grin at her as she let go of his arm. "Nothing!"

She furrowed her brow at him, but dismissed his probable lie to move into the bathroom. Dudley watched her go, sticking his tongue out at her retreating figure. He changed out of his clothes into his spotted pyjamas, grabbed his toothbrush from his bag and dashed into the bathroom, baring his teeth to the old woman before him.

Mrs Figg arched an eyebrow. "Dudley, what are you doing?"

"Waiting." He replied, his teeth gritted.

"For what?"

"For you to brush my teeth." His simple statement blew her away. Aghast, she began to chastise him.

"Dudley, you're five. You should be brushing by yourself now. Look, I'll put the toothpaste onto the brush, then I want you to brush for two minutes. Got it?"

Relaxing his teeth, Dudley wailed: "But that's long!"

"No arguments. Now," She plucked the toothbrush from his fingers, applied the paste onto the brush and gave it back to him. "Brush."

"I don't want to go to sleep! I'm not tired!" He complained, accompanying his words with a yawn he desperately tried to keep contained. Mrs Figg sighed in frustration. They had moved on from brushing teeth to bedtime, but her young neighbour wouldn't get into bed and was now hassling her to let him stay up late.

"Mummy lets me stay up late!" The usual deviousness in his eyes intensified. "She won't be happy when she hears that you didn't let me stay up until midnight! That's my bedtime!"

"Dudley, don't lie to me. I am looking after you and you should listen to me. You are going to bed right now and you are not to get up in the night."

Another bout of whinging started up and Mrs Figg resisted the urge to cover her ears with her hands.

"Stop that silly noise and get into bed!" She narrowed her eyes at him. "No getting up in the night for any midnight snacks either. If I catch you snacking, you'll be in big trouble."

Unperturbed by such a threat, Dudley's eyes swelled, attempting to portray the innocence that constantly escaped him. He battered his eyelids, whispering:

"Please, Mrs Figg? Please?"

"No. Go to sleep."

As soon as he heard her answer, Dudley lost his innocent look and reverted into his normal brattish attitude. Stomping his feet, he scrunched up his nose and wailed:

"I want to stay up! It's not fair! Mummy and Daddy would let me! You're stupid!"

"Ah," Mrs Figg dropped down to her neighbour's level and grabbed hold of both of his arms, shaking him slightly. She growled:

"You do not call me stupid. Don't ever insult me! Your parents need to raise you more effectively and you will go to sleep. Now."

"No! I hate you!"

Arabella shook him harder. "Well, I don't like you at all, but I'm taking care of you for your parents, which shows I care." She neglected to tell him _why_ she cared about his family, solely down to one member, but he was only a little boy. Nightmare he may be, she did not want to see him die.

"Mummy and Daddy think you're weird! Stupid cat freak!"

"Right." Mrs Figg growled, slipping out a threat before she could think logically. "You don't get to bed right now, then I'll put you in a cat basket!"

 _That_ got Dudley to shut up, tensing on the spot. His bottom lip wobbled and his hands clenched, then unclenched as he quickly climbed into bed, snuggling down under the covers. His teddy bear had been packed into his bag by his mother, but he was a big boy now and didn't need a wimpy toy to cuddle up too! But he couldn't deny that a small part of him wanted the toy by his side, especially in this crazy lady's haunted house.

Mrs Figg, a tense figure in the doorway, stared the boy down. Five years of parents spoiling him had warped her neighbour and she doubted that he had learned decent morals yet. She could attempt to teach him, but what would be the point? The boy wouldn't amount to much anyway.

She continued drilling her eyes into his, until his eyelids drooped downwards and light snoring commenced. She shook her head and quietly shut the door, relishing the company of her cats.

* * *

Three hours had passed since Dudley had gone to sleep and Arabella was cosy in bed when she heard sudden whimpering. It was faint albeit close. An intruder wouldn't whimper, her cats could stand up to a burglar but they were not as fierce as guard dogs. Unless, someone with magical abilities had entered her home…

Quickly, she shifted one of her cats off of the bed and clambered out. She pulled on her dressing gown, shoving her feet into her slippers and darted down the stairs. Logical reasoning evaded her as she went to confront the intruder. Dudley had to be protected, no matter what. Harry Potter's cousin was valuable, his personality aside. Mrs Figg peered into the living room, eyeing up any potential weapons to use on the intruder. As she crept over to her armchair, the scene that she encountered sent her into a short state of shock.

Dudley was curled up on the floor, trembling in fear. His back was to the television, volume low and screen far too bright for her adjusting eyes. The figure on the screen seemed to be from a horror film, judging by the badly scarred face and clawed hands. Mrs Figg grimaced, before looking disapprovingly down at Dudley, who slowly raised his head, tears leaking down his face.

A small voice wavered up to her, making her fold her arms crossly.

"Freddy's going to get me… I-I don't want to go to sleep anymore."


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER THREE**

The morning was a tense affair. Mrs Figg, still annoyed and frustrated over Dudley's late night dalliance with a horror film, leant against the kitchen counter, glowering at the silent child seated at the table. She'd had to soothe him to sleep, as well as convince him that Freddy Kruger would not be getting him in his dreams. Dudley had only drifted off to a fitful sleep, teddy bear crushed in his arms, at four in the morning and Arabella was exhausted. Her cats wound in and out of her legs as she watched Dudley poke at his cereal. Frustrated over his antics she may be, there was one consolation that came from the situation and it was that at least the boy hadn't complained about the cereal she had given him, considering it wasn't coated in chocolate.

At the table, Dudley stirred his Weetabix around the bowl, sloshing the milk over the oval shaped bar. He had been stirring the milk round for a full five minutes now and Mrs Figg debated on whether to take the bowl away from him or let him continue to waste time playing with his food. One of her cats, Ziggy, demanded attention a few moments later so she pulled her gaze away from the boy and stroked Ziggy's fur, smiling as his head dipped upon having the back of his ear scratched.

"Finished. I want to go to the park."

Arabella looked at Dudley and to her amazement, he had finished his breakfast in a minute flat. Now he was staring at her, palms flat behind his empty bowl, ready to dash off to get changed for his upcoming trip. Mrs Figg sighed, reluctantly nodding.

"Very well, but you need to clear up first."

He narrowed his eyes, then opened his mouth, but Mrs Figg was not prepared for a blazing row after a restless night.

"No, Dudley, you're washing up your bowl and spoon, then once you've dressed, I'll take you to the park. I'm allowing you to do what you want, so do as I've asked please."

"But I don't want too! You live here, _you_ clean up!"

"Young man, I have asked you to clean up. So do it!"

Eye rolling and much grumbling followed, but Dudley ran his bowl and spoon under hot water, shoving them onto the racks to dry. He spun round on the spot and grinned cheekily up at her.

"Park now?"

"Go and get out of your pyjamas, then we can go."

After changing into an outlandish shirt and striped shorts that Arabella was sure Dudley himself had picked out – Petunia had 'taste' when it came to choosing clothes apparently -, the pair left the house. Arabella ambled on, wondering how Harry was getting on at the summer camp, noting that the boy must be relieved to escape temporarily from his beastly relatives. Meanwhile, Dudley was sprinting ahead of his neighbour, swishing an imaginary sword through the air.

"Haha! Bow down before me, King Dudley! I am ruler of this land and I want you to give me all of your pocket money! Or I'll chop off your heads!"

"Dudley, that's not appropriate. Your Mum and Dad wouldn't want you shouting that in the streets of such a 'perfect area.'" Her tone was laced with sarcasm.

The five year old whipped his head round, coming to a stop but still waving his arm around. "No, they wouldn't care. They love me and I can do anything I want!" He grinned cruelly. "Now, move it! I need to make Piers my servant. A king can't rule without a servant!"

"Dudley, come back here."

"No!" The answer was shouted back to her, a small stomp of the foot following shortly after.

"Dudley Dursley! Come back here!"

He shook his head, cheeky smile tugging at his lips. "No thanks, you're too slow!" He shot off, leaving Mrs Figg to hurry after him towards the park. The equipment was central in the grassy field, swings, slides, climbing frames and the roundabout crawling with children. Between the blurs of brightly coloured clothes and different shapes and sizes, it was difficult to spot Dudley. However, when Arabella raised her eye level, she quickly found her young neighbour and a jolt of panic raced through her.

He was balancing on the very top of the climbing frame, feet half curled over the railing and one chubby hand holding tight onto the bar. His other arm flew free in the wind as Dudley proclaimed that he was 'King of Little Whinging' and demanding for everyone's pocket money to be handed over to him. It was a reckless move and Mrs Figg lambasted Dudley's foolishness as she hurried over towards the climbing frame.

"Dudley! Get down from there this instant, before you fall!"

"But I'm King! I'm above everyone!"

"Get down here now, before I call your parents!"

Involving his parents seemed to shock the young boy so to Mrs Figg's immense relief, Dudley began to climb down towards the ground, shrugging off a thin boy who tried to pat him on the back. Mrs Figg recognised the thin child as Piers Polkiss, one of the boys who loitered around with Dudley. She usually saw them walking to school together, their respective mothers trailing after them, and wondered what aspect of their friendship appealed to Piers as Dudley was such an oafish boy.

Once his feet had touched the ground, Dudley frowned. "Happy now? I'm going to play with Piers, so you can wait here."

Before she could say another word, the two boys ran off, leaving her to sit on a nearby bench.

* * *

She watched them play game after game, ones where Dudley ended up either being in charge or injuring Piers in some way. The thin boy didn't seem to mind the roughhousing, the expression 'boys will be boys' dancing through Arabella's mind.

"Mrs Figg! Get us ice cream!"

Blinking through the daze of boredom that had come over her, Mrs Figg noticed the ice cream van that had pulled up nearby, then shook her head, eyes narrowed. "No, I'm not getting you ice cream and next time, say please. Try treating people with respect, instead of shouting at them."

Dudley pouted. "Where's the fun in that?" He whined, whilst Piers attempting to make his friend laugh, sniggered. "Old people are useless anyway!"

"I hardly think so, Mr Polkiss. Without old people, the two of you wouldn't even exist!"

"Huh?"

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Mrs Figg inhaled sharply. "Breathe, Arabella. They're only children."

"Are you gonna get us ice cream or not?"

"No, you'll spoil your lunch."

Dudley screwed up his face, an indicator that he was going to kick off into a tantrum. "I want one! Me and Piers are really hungry after all that playing! Make yourself useful and buy us one!"

"Not with that attitude, I won't." She snapped. "And I already told you I'm not buying you one. You'll stuff yourself."

Dudley turned bright red in the face, stamping his foot into the grass with a growl. "Fine, you won't get me one, then I'll tell Mum and Dad that you've been keeping me hungry and that you locked me in the basement!"

Piers grinned wickedly, his desire for ice cream rocketing. Mrs Figg muttered a quiet comment under her breath; "We don't have basements in England," before sighing in defeat.

"Alright, I'll get the two of you ice creams, but I don't want you moaning about what ones you get. Understood?"

Both boys nodded, albeit Dudley looked glum at being unable to choose the ice cream that he wanted. Arabella went over to the ice cream van and withdrawing a two pound coin from her old battered purse, handed the money over to the vendor.

"Two 99p flakes please."

She continually turned her head round to keep a watchful eye on the two boys in her care, worried that they would wonder off out of sight. When the vendor handed her the two ice creams and her change, she pocketed the money, then rushed over to the boys who were lounging on the bench.

Piers nodded towards his purple coloured watch. "Took your time."

Arabella shoved the ice creams towards the two boys, grimacing as Dudley smeared it all round his mouth. "Don't be so rude, Piers Polkiss. I'm sure your mother wouldn't appreciate such disrespect. It would be a shame if she found out…"

To his credit, Piers did look ashamed of his comment and licking his ice cream sadly, he whispered: "Sorry. Thanks for the ice cream, Mrs Figg."

She nodded in appreciation, glowering as Dudley hissed out the side of his mouth: "Sissy."

Once they had finished their ice creams, Piers checked his watch and told them he had to get home as his parents were having guests round for dinner. Dudley watched him go, rolling his eyes at the thought of being stuck with the cat lady all by himself again, then turned to Mrs Figg once he had finished his ice cream.

"What are we doing now?"

"Now? We're going to go food shopping. Come along, but first…" She pulled out a wet wipe. "I'm going to clean that ice cream off your face."

He squirmed and groaned, but eventually his chubby face was free of any food or dirt. Mrs Figg took hold of his hand, not wanting him to go charging off again and started leading the way to the local strip of shops, intent on shopping as fast as possible to prevent a possible tantrum in the works.

All the way there, Dudley dragged his feet, whining and complaining as young children were apt to do. When they arrived there, Mrs Figg grabbed a basket and pulled Dudley alongside her, quickly flinging in the items she needed into the basket. Beside her, Dudley mooched along until he spotted the aisle holding the cakes and biscuits.

"Mrs Figg! Go down there, I want to get some Jaffa cakes!"

Arabella shook her head. This is exactly what she had been afraid of happening.

"No. You haven't been good today. So, no sweet treats."

She'd experienced plenty of tantrums from Dudley Dursley. Ones in the street, ones in the park, even ones in her own home. But _this_ , it was as if a bomb had gone off.

In five seconds flat, Dudley had wrenched his hand free from her grip and flung himself onto the floor. He flailed his legs and pounded his fists into the floor, screaming at the top of his lungs. Mrs Figg watched the events, open-mouthed, unable to make sense of the situation. She had known that Dudley was prone to temper tantrums, but this was all too much. She needed to reign in his behaviour before it was too late as it was obvious that his parents were going to do nothing about it.

Crowd gathering to watch the spectacle, Mrs Figg burst into action. Abandoning her basket, she moved over to Dudley, grabbing his hand and yanking him to his feet forcefully. Food shopping could wait, now she had a screaming child to deal with. Mrs Figg stormed out of the shop, holding tightly onto Dudley's hand. He was red in the face from wailing at the top of his lungs and he was trying to kick his neighbour in the shins with all his might. A few times, the toe of his shoe connected with her ankle and Mrs Figg tightened her grip each time, speeding up her pace.

* * *

By the time they got to her house, Mrs Figg was furious and she wasted no time in dishing out her own brand of punishment.

"I want you to sit over there," She pointed to the centre of the sofa in her living room. "And think about your behaviour. I can't believe you decided to scream and throw a fit in the middle of the supermarket. You're not a baby, Dudley! You're already in primary school, start growing up."

As soon as she had released his hand, her young neighbour stomped his foot, still screaming at the same pitch level as he had done at the supermarket.

"NO! IT'S NOT FAIR! I WANTED BISCUITS AND YOU SAID NO! YOU'RE MEAN AND HORRIBLE AND I'M GOING TO MY ROOM!"

He stormed up the stairs before she could stop him, and Mrs Figg slumped in defeat as the door upstairs slammed.

"I need a cup of tea." She muttered to herself.


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER FOUR**

A couple of days passed, and it was now the last full day before Dudley was to be returned to his parents. After the incident at the supermarket, Mrs Figg had managed to get Dudley to sit down for a time-out, hoping that the boy would reflect on his little selfish act. The time-out had lasted fifteen minutes overall, with Mrs Figg having to watch the boy like a hawk, to make sure that he stayed seated. Dudley, thankfully, had stayed sitting, his face sullen and stormy eyes blinking away rage. He had been rewarded for his time-out not with a cuddle, but with marching orders to bed and he had ensured to stomp on each step of the staircase on his way to his temporary room.

Relations between them for the next couple of days had been strained and now she was waiting for Dudley to come down the stairs, so she could take him to one of his little friend's birthday party. He'd only informed her about it last night over dinner and when asked if he had a present to take to the party, Dudley had simply looked at her and snorted.

As Dudley came thumping down the stairs, Mrs Figg decided to tackle the issue of the present.

"Put your shoes on, we're quickly going to the shopping centre to buy your friend a present. What would he want?"

Halting at the bottom of the stairs, Dudley scowled, shoulders hitching up then dropping. "Dunno. He won't want anything, I know he won't."

"Dudley, he's turning six. He _will_ want a present. He's a child."

"But I don't have one to give him so… he'll have to deal with it."

"We're getting him a present."

"But I already have one!"

Arabella threw her hands up in the air in exasperation. "You told me that you didn't have one to give him! Why did you lie?"

Her young neighbour rolled his eyes. "I'm giving him the gift of my friendship."

Mrs Figg blinked. "It's nice to give something that isn't materialistic, but I know you Dudley, do you even have a good friendship with this boy?"

"Course I do! He helps me buy sweets from the tuck shop."

"Helps? I'm sure he does."

"Malcolm only invited really close friends and I was invited, so hah!"

Mrs Figg shook her head, folding her arms across her chest. "When I called yesterday evening to confirm the invitation, his mother told me that all of his class at primary school had been invited."

At this, Dudley's face reddened, and he looked sheepish. "Well… maybe his Mum did let them come, but still, _I'm_ going! That makes the party better!"

Nodding towards his shoes by the door, Mrs Figg said sternly: "Shoes. Then shopping centre."

* * *

The walk around the shopping centre didn't take as long as Arabella expected. In the first toy shop they walked into, Dudley looked around and upon seeing the cheapest toy out of all of them, picked up the Transformer robot and thrust it into Mrs Figg's hands.

"This is for Malcolm. I want these ones."

He hurried back over to the other toys, toys with prices marked much higher than the one Dudley had selected for his friend. Mrs Figg found herself clutching her handbag containing her purse tighter as Dudley threw her a pleading look.

"No." She shook her head firmly. "We don't have time to buy any more toys."

" _Please!"_

"You'll be late."

"No! They'll wait for me, I'm the best thing at the party!"

"They won't. Now come along, right now."

"You have to buy me a milkshake then. If you won't buy me these toys, then you'll have to buy me a drink. I'm thirsty."

" _For goodness sake."_ She muttered under her breath, before addressing Dudley. "Fine, I'll buy you a milkshake. Quick, show me where you can get one, then we must go. The party starts soon."

As she bustled over to the counter to pay for the toy, she caught sight of Dudley's gleeful grin and fought back the urge to put her head into her hands.

* * *

Thirst sated by a chocolate milkshake, Mrs Figg walked Dudley to Malcolm's house, seeing him in and watching as the boy handed over the toy to his excited friend. She waited for Dudley to trot off, not surprised at the lack of goodbye he gave her, and closed the front door behind her, heading home to relax for the few hours she had to herself.

A few hours later, Mrs Figg shuffled up to the front door of the house holding the party and knocked on the door. The door was opened within seconds and Mrs Figg became alarmed at the expression on Malcolm's mother's face.

"He hit one of the kids. They had an argument over what game to play and he hit Callum in the mouth. Lucky there was no blood. It's best you take him home with you. I'll have to talk to Petunia when they get back."

Arabella sighed, not needing her young neighbour's name to be spoken aloud to know who his friend's mother was talking about. It seems that no matter whose care he was left in, Dudley simply could not behave.

"Where is he?"

"In the living room." Malcolm's mother turned her head into the hallway and raised her voice. "Dudley! Mrs Figg is here!"

A few moments of silence passed, before Dudley shuffled out into the hall-way, looking slightly sheepish. He glanced up at Malcolm's mother and muttered:

"Sorry, Karen. Is Malcolm still my friend?"

Sighing, she nodded slowly. "Yes, but I don't want to see those fists in my house again. Understand?"

Dudley nodded in response, stepping out of the house to join Mrs Figg on the doorstep. Mrs Figg apologised to Karen, before grabbing hold of Dudley's hand and pulling him away from the house.

Once the front door had closed, Arabella began her lecture.

"What were you thinking?! Hitting one of the other children! Honestly, Dudley, can you not behave yourself for one minute? What will your parents think?! If they blame me, well they'll have another thing coming to me! I care for their son and nephew and I get no respect! It's-"

"Sorry."

She was cut off by the quiet apology and Arabella was flabbergasted at how _sorry_ Dudley seemed. She thought remorse was beyond him, but maybe… she had judged him wrong.

"Right. Good… I do not want a repeat of that behaviour. Do you understand me? Never again will you use your fists against someone else. Promise me."

" _I pledge allegiance to the flag…"_ Dudley drawled in an American accent, holding up a three finger salute to his heart.

Mrs Figg stopped in her tracks, letting go of her neighbour's hand. She regarded him with an odd look.

"What are you going on about?"

"I saw it in a film once." Dudley shrugged his shoulders. "Can we go to the bakery now?"

' _So much for being remorseful. He certainly is his mother's and father's son.'_

The pair ambled along back towards Mrs Figg's house, forced to take a longer route back as Dudley wanted to see if the new racing bike he wanted was in stock. When it was confirmed that the bike was not yet being sold in Little Whinging, Dudley trailed alongside Mrs Figg, grumbling to himself. Arabella simply ignored his moaning, choosing instead to keep a close eye on him so he didn't wander off. They were now travelling down alleyways to skim off time on their journey home and the one they were currently walking down looked rough.

The walls were coated in graffiti and they passed an empty sleeping bag, an obvious sign that someone was sleeping rough. Mrs Figg inched closer to Dudley and quickened her pace when a figure from the other end of the alleyway approached them. As they were about to cross paths, Mrs Figg gasped at the man who stopped mere metres away from her. She would recognise the feral creature before her even if she wasn't directly looking at his face. Arabella had no idea what his purpose was currently being in a small village in the middle of Surrey, but she gathered an idea that it involved something inhumane and immoral.

"G-Greyback. What are you doing here?"

His reputation affected her speech and she could not help the shiver that ran up her spine like pinpricks. A sweaty hand wrapped around her own clammy one. _Dudley._ She was in the presence of one of the most dangerous werewolves in the wizarding community of Britain and she was with a _child._

She may as well have handed Dudley over to Fenrir Greyback on a silver platter.

Greyback flashed a gruesome smile, stained teeth on show.

"Was looking for a certain Boy Who Lived, but I reckon you can guess that. I know your face. I've seen you hanging around the Ministry before, talking with those blood traitors. But _him…"_ He leered down at the small boy next to the old woman, smile widening more. "I've never seen him before. Who are you, little boy?"

"My g-grandson. George."

Dudley stared up at her like she was mad, but Arabella refused to look at him, not wanting to let her guard slip. She squeezed his hand to reassure him, knowing that he would undoubtedly be terrified.

"Why hello _George._ Where are you off to with Granny? Anywhere nice?"

Dudley felt like he was going to wet himself. Beads of sweat broke out onto his forehead and trickled down the side of his face. This man was _scary!_ He looked like the Big Bad Wolf from Red Riding Hood and Dudley was certain that he was about to be gobbled up. The scary man was also giving off serious creep vibes, as he kept staring at his neck.

His parents had warned him about 'stranger danger' and Dudley, for once, listened to his parents' advice and remained silent, only moving closer to Mrs Figg in response.

Greyback threw back his head and let out a bellow of laughter.

"Quiet one you've got here. Trained him well."

Arabella felt Dudley's grip tighten and she could feel his arm begin to tremble.

"So, know where Harry Potter is?"

She'd had enough. Mrs Figg tugged Dudley after her, whipping her head round to yell:

"I'll get Dumbledore after you! Just you wait and see!"

Greyback simply smirked back at her before a crack was heard, making Dudley flinch in fear. Arabella gritted her teeth, aghast that one bloodthirsty werewolf was sniffing around near where _Harry Potter_ now lived. She made a mental note to have a serious chat with Dumbledore and the rest of the Order, but first, she had to do some consoling.

* * *

As soon as they stepped foot into her home, Mrs Figg led Dudley over to her armchair, sinking into it and pulling him onto her lap. The boy was heavy on her slight frame, but she ignored the ache to wrap her arms around his frame, pushing his head to her chest. Dudley's body suddenly shuddered as he became wracked with breathless sobs. His tears splashed onto his lap and he wailed against her collarbone, letting all of his terror and fear unravel into a mass of emotions.

Mrs Figg clutched Dudley tightly, gently rocking back and forth, murmuring:

"Ssh, it's okay. I'm here, Dudley. The bad man has gone."

She rubbed his back soothingly, wincing when the young boy cried out a dangerous question.

"W-W-Why was he l-looking for H-Harry?!"

Mrs Figg couldn't tell him the truth, it was too much for a five year old boy to cope with and she didn't want to upset him anymore.

"I don't know… sweetheart. Don't worry now, you'll never see him again."


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER FIVE**

At last it was here, the final day she had to spend babysitting Dudley. Arabella had flitted in and out of sleep throughout the night, hovering close in case Dudley continued to scream. After the encounter with Greyback, Dudley had become emotionally exhausted, with Mrs Figg tucking him into bed in the guest room at four thirty in the afternoon. He managed to sleep for a few hours before falling into nightmares of wicked grins and teeth sinking into his fleshy neck and since the first time Mrs Figg had comforted him, he had continued to wake up on and off over the course of the night.

Dudley woke up at half seven on the day his parents were due to return home, curling his legs up underneath the sheets. He badly wanted his Mum to cuddle and had a sudden thought that made his blood run cold.

' _What if Mum and Dad don't want me anymore? What if they liked not having me around so much that they get Mrs Figg to keep me here? What if they take Harry on as their son and lock ME in the cupboard instead?'_

He swallowed down a sob, then sat up in bed, pyjamas sticking to his body. The door opened and Mrs Figg lingered in the doorway, giving him a small smile.

"Are you alright? You're going home today so that's something."

"Yeah… I'm going to have a bath. Can you run one for me?"

She would have gotten annoyed at his request, but after the ordeal he had been through, she decided to take pity on him.

"Yes, of course. Then you know what, we can have some pancakes for breakfast afterwards. I think I still have some pancake mix in the cupboard."

Dudley smiled genuinely. "I'd like that."

* * *

They sat and ate pancakes, Dudley's one covered in sugar and coated in syrup, before Mrs Figg helped her neighbour pack his bag. When all of his belongings were packed, Arabella placed his bag and shoes by the front door then sat them both down, sipping a cooling tea as Dudley helped himself to a plate of biscuits.

"It's… been tricky looking after you. You're not the most… _well-behaved_ boy, Dudley."

He crammed another biscuit into his mouth, shrugging his shoulders. "I'm not naughty."

" _Really?"_ Mrs Figg snorted. "I find that hard to believe."

Dudley didn't take offence to her comment, instead licking his lips and muttering:

"Can I have milk?"

" _Please."_

"Yeah, that."

"It's in the fridge, go pour yourself a glass."

He heaved himself up from his chair and wandered into the kitchen. Mrs Figg shook her head in exasperation. She didn't want Dudley to be scarred from his run-in with Fenrir Greyback, but already, he seemed to be back to his normal self. Unfortunately.

Dudley came back into the living room with a glass of milk and sat down, just as the doorbell rang. Setting aside the milk, Dudley jumped to his feet and ran to the door, wrenching the door open.

"Mummy!"

He crashed into her, hugging his mother tightly and burying his head into her skirt. Petunia looked down in surprise, before recovering and becoming overwhelmed with joy.

"Duddykins! Oh, sweetheart, we missed you so much! I tried to call Mrs Figg, but the reception at the place we were staying was very bad! I love you so much!"

She waited for him to pull back before crouching down and cupping his face.

"Have you been a good boy?"

There was a cough that interrupted the emotional reunion and Petunia looked up to see Mrs Figg in the hall-way, arms across her chest. There was silence for a few moments before Mrs Figg reluctantly smiled.

"He has been good. We had a bit of an upset yesterday, but I think we're over that now, aren't we?"

Dudley nodded, shocked that Mrs Figg had mentioned that he had been upset. Usually, he would have proclaimed that he was a 'big boy', but he still just wanted a long cuddle from his mother.

"Really? Why were you sad, Duddy?"

Her son looked up at her and said: "I missed you and Dad, that's all." His voice quietened and he glanced to the floor. "I thought that you and D-Daddy wouldn't want me back."

"Sweetheart!" Petunia swept him back into a hug. "Of course we want you! We love you dearly! Come on, let's go home. Daddy's in the car, he can't wait to see you!"

Mrs Figg thought it odd that Vernon wouldn't come with Petunia to pick up their son, but guessed that the walk from the car to her front door was too far for him. And also she wanted to bring up the awkward topic of payment.

"About me taking care of him…"

"Ah." Petunia narrowed her eyes slightly as she let go of Dudley and stood up, taking out her purse from her handbag. "Twenty pounds, here you go." She took out the money and gestured for Mrs Figg to take the twenty pound note.

Arabella took the money, thinking that she should have been paid more to take care of the Dursley child, but at least he was going and she wouldn't be stuck with him day in and day out.

"Let's go, Duddy." Petunia smiled sweetly at her son, sticking out her hand.

"Hold on, Mum. I forgot something." Dudley grabbed his bag and headed up the stairs as Petunia and Arabella were left to wait around awkwardly and in silence. Petunia didn't bother to make small talk with her neighbour, simply sighing as she took in the décor and worried about her son's treatment. He _seemed_ fine, but only time would tell.

A few minutes later, Dudley came stomping down the stairs, bag in hand.

"All done, let's go."

Mrs Figg nodded and said: "Well, I'm sure I'll see you again soon, Dudley… take care."

"You too." And to her utmost surprise, Dudley Dursley came over to her and _hugged her._ Arabella stood still, arms at her side as he squeezed her, whispering:

"Thanks for saving me." A bit of rummaging around in his pocket revealed a chocolate bar, which he pressed into her loose hand. He let go of his neighbour and grinned lop-sided at her.

"Got it from Malcolm yesterday at the party. See ya around."

Dudley turned on his heel and followed his mother out of the house, banging the front door behind them. Mrs Figg breathed a sigh of relief, before going upstairs to check the guest room. She wasn't sure what Dudley had been doing when he had gone upstairs a few minutes earlier by himself and wanted to check that everything was in order.

* * *

A thorough check of the room revealed that nothing was out of place, but as night fell and she could only count fourteen of her cats, she suddenly realised that potentially Dudley Dursley may have stolen one of her cats to keep for himself.

"That wretched child." She muttered to herself as she pulled on her coat. Time to get her cat back from the hands of one greedy child.


End file.
